


The Sound of Drums

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Multi, Post-Episode: s03e04 Unleashed, Post-Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Can you hear them? They’re coming. They’re in the signal, they’re in my head.”</i> Stiles, already suffering from ADHD, has recently become aware of the four-beat drums inside his head. And there’s a fob watch, one he hasn’t noticed before—yet it always seems to be there. . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [all alone in space and time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/771717) by [deerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerie/pseuds/deerie). 



_Dum-dum-dumdum. Dum-dum-dum-dum._

Stiles Stilinski groaned and leaned forward on his desk, rubbing his temples and forehead. The headaches, or drumbeats, or whatever they were, had started up only a few days ago. At first they’d been quiet, faint, but now they were starting to grow louder.

“Stiles?” Scott McCall whispered from his seat behind him. “You okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. It’s only slightly obvious.”

_Stupid wolf powers,_ said a voice in Stiles’s head that most definitely did _not_ sound like him. _Then again, if I could harness that, control the pack . . ._ He frowned. Where had that come from? 

“Stilinksi! McCall!” Both boys jumped at the sound of Mr. Harris’s voice. “Do you two want to get a room, or do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”

Stiles sensed Scott stiffen. The werewolf said quickly, “No, sir.”

“Good. Then can we carry on with the lesson? We can? Then _let’s get on with it_.”

Mr. Harris continued his lecture, but all Stiles could hear was the sound of drums. He wondered briefly how long it would take for him to be driven insane.

_Oh, don’t worry,_ said the strange-yet-oh-so-familiar voice in his head. _You already are._

That made him feel _so_ much better.

-oOo-

“What was all that about, Stiles?” Scott asked when the bell rang and they were in the hall between classes.

“I don’t know, Scott, but for the past few days, they’ve been there in my head. Couldn’t you hear it?”

Scott frowned. “Hear what?”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me that even with your super keen werewolf hearing, you can’t hear the drums?”

His best friend was looking worried now. “Stiles, I don’t hear any drums.”

“But they’re there! They’re in the signal, they’re in my head. The ever-present _drumming_.” Stiles began tapping out a four-beat rhythm on his jean-clad thigh. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. “Can you hear them now, Scott?”

The Beta’s expression was now that of concern. “We should take you to see Derek,” he said. “Maybe he’ll know what’s going on with you.”

“What, ditch school?”

Scott nodded.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” Stiles flashed Scott an excited—albeit maniacal—smile and started walking toward the doors. Something bounced along in his pocket, something that felt round and metal and definitely _not_ his phone, but he didn’t think much of it. Since Scott had mentioned Derek and the image of the Alpha was in his head, Stiles was too busy trying to figure out why the older werewolf reminded him of someone else with close-cropped black hair, blue eyes, and a leather jacket. Then the figure morphed into a tall skinny bloke with brown hair, eyes, a suit and trenchcoat, and red converse sneakers. Something about the two men seemed so familiar yet Stiles knew they _weren’t him_. He’d met this man before, though, he was certain of that—and he was so alone . . .

-oOo-

He was walking with Scott into Derek Hale’s new hangout before he knew it. Stiles frowned. He never lost track of time. That just didn’t happen. Okay, maybe a little once he was on Adderall to help with his ADHD—but the medicine dulled his mind and senses. It was _boring_. If this was how normal humans’ minds worked, he wondered how they had made the technological advancements that they had. 

_Stupid apes_ , said the voice in his head.

Then he noticed Peter Hale lurking in the shadows and “Oh, it’s you” slipped out before he could stop himself.

“It looks like someone’s glad to see me,” Peter retorted with his usual dry sarcastic humor.

“You wish.”

“What are you doing here?” Derek cut in before his uncle could say anything else. “Shouldn’t the two of you be in school?”

_School_. Stiles’s mind flashed to a field of red grass, silver trees, and twin suns in an orange sky. Then he snapped out of it to hear Scott say, “He keeps saying he’s hearing drums, but when I listen, I can’t hear them.”

Derek cocked his head, looking skeptical. “Drums.”

“Yes, drums!” Stiles burst out. “Some days are better than others—they’re quieter—but they’re _always_ there.” His hand slipped into his right pocket, curled around the object there. The three werewolves followed the movement with narrowed eyes.

“Stiles,” Scott said slowly, “what’s in your pocket?”

“Don’t know.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket only to find he was holding what looked like a watch. 

“What is that?” Scott asked.

“It’s a fob watch,” Peter answered. The former Alpha seemed almost spooked now and wouldn’t meet Stiles’s eyes. As much as this confused the teenager, he felt a thrill of dark satisfaction. They _should_ be scared of him—he’d seen more, _done_ more than they could ever imagine. He’d looked into the Untempered Schism—Time itself. He was their Master.

“What are those markings?” Derek asked, his blue eyes flashing red. “I’ve never seen them before.”

Stiles ran his thumb over the watch’s cool silver surface, studying the circular symbols etched into the metal. It seemed to be whispering to him, urging him to open it. “It’s Gallifreyan,” he said, raising his head to meet the stares of all three werewolves. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it felt _right_.

“Gallifreyan?” Scott asked, puzzled.

“It’s a language, _my_ language.” Stiles frowned. “How did I know that? How could I have known that?” He shook his head, trying to clear it—but the drums were still there, growing louder. The fob watch fell from his hands as he gripped the sides of his head.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” There was genuine concern in Derek’s voice. At least the Alpha had some concern for his well-being even though they were at each other’s throats most of the time.

“The drums. They’re getting louder. Can’t you hear them?”

All three wolves shook their heads.

“No! _Listen_!” In desperation, Stiles grabbed Scott, pressed his forehead to his best friend’s. The Beta pulled back after a few seconds, confused. “Stiles, was that supposed to do something?”

“Yes!”

_Open the watch,_ urged the voice in his head. _Release me!_

“What was that supposed to do?” Derek asked, his eyes back to their normal color.

“You’re going to think I’m mad,” Stiles said.

Peter scoffed. “Who says we don’t already?”

He fell silent at Derek and Scott’s low growls.

“Do you mind?” Stiles made no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. “Look, how do you think I figured out all these recent murders weren’t Boyd and Cora, how Matt was the Kanima’s master, how all your victims”—this was directed at Peter—“were connected to the Hale fire? It’s because I’m clever, very clever. Those drugs the doctors make me take? I’ve stopped. It dulls my mind, my sense, and if this is how humans normally think—it’s _boring_.” He noticed that the three wolves had stepped back away from him; he didn’t care. “And lately I’ve been having dreams. Fields of red grass, twin suns, seeing the universe, Daleks, Autons, the Year That Never Was, and faces. So many different faces, and it’s like they’re a part of me. Sometimes I even dream I have two hearts. And there’s another man—the Doctor—and he’s like me. The last of our kind.” A harsh inhuman laugh escaped him.

“You’re crazy,” Peter said faintly—and coming from a sociopathic werewolf, that was saying a lot.

Stiles smirked and bent down to retrieve the fob watch. “Let’s see just how crazy I am, shall we?”

And he opened the watch.

Golden light burst from it, surrounded him, and Stiles welcomed it, _relished_ it. He finally felt _complete._

The light faded as he absorbed it, and he did a quick internal check. Both hearts working? Yes. Respiratory bypass? Check. Drums? Check—and oh, how he’d missed them when he’d died (he’d had a backup plan, of course).

“Stiles?” The hesitant voice belonged to Scott, who was slowly shifting back to human shape.

He smirked. “My name’s not Stiles.”

Yellow eyes blinked. “What?”

“I’m the Master.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

_“What?”_

“That’s the Doctor’s line, Scotty. Don’t wear it out.”

“Just when I’d thought I’d seen everything,” Derek muttered.

“Oh, not _every_ thing.”

“Who are you?” Peter asked.

“I already told you. I’m the Master.” He frowned. “Well, this is definitely the youngest regeneration I’ve had so far. Anybody have a mirror?”

Derek bared his fangs, eyes flashing Alpha-red. “Let’s rephrase that: _What_ are you?”

“I’m a Time Lord; you three are werewolves. Huh. I’ve never met wolves who can shift at will before. Oh, and there’s an Alpha pack on the loose. Fun. Let’s go find them, yeah?”

“What’s a Time Lord?” Scott asked.

The Master rolled his eyes. “By Gallifrey, you’re dense. What made you pick him?” he demanded of Peter.

The former Alpha eyed him steadily. “It could just as easily been you that night in the woods. You were just human then, after all.”

“No it—” He stopped, shrugged. “Fair point. And, really, Scott, you should have guessed by now. Two hearts. Time Lord. I’m an alien.”

“And the drums?” Peter asked.

“Oh, they’re still here. Listen.” The Master rested both hands on the older Hale’s temples, pressed their foreheads together. Seconds later Peter jerked back, eyes wide. “I heard it. What’s in there? What’s in your head?”

“So it’s not just me! They’re _real_! And they’re calling to me, calling me to rule the world.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Derek commented. “A teenager in charge of the world.”

The Master’s head snapped in the Alpha’s direction, eyes blazing. “I am _not_ a teenager,” he hissed. “I’m over nine hundred years old. Watch your step, _wolf_.”

Derek shifted into full werewolf form and snarled, baring his fangs. The Master eyes him with somewhat of a bored expression. “Is that all you’ve got? Please. Still, you could do worse, I suppose. Now.” He clapped his hands together, rubbed them briskly. “Have you seen my laser screwdriver anywhere? No? Ah well, I can always make a new one.” The Time Lord suddenly stopped talking and tilted his head to the side in a curious manner. “Wow, I’ve certainly got a gob on this body. I’m starting to sound like the Doctor—and don’t even get me started on that goody two-shoes. Then again, he did destroy our planet and our people. He must have felt like God, having all that power.” His voice had turned raspy, almost sensual—and he just noticed that the three wolves had been quiet and staring at him for some time now. “What?”

“Do you have any idea how wrong that tone of voice sounds coming from my best friend’s mouth?” Scott said. “Not to mention the look on your face. It’s disturbing.”

“For once, I agree with Scott,” said Derek.

“And I’m with both of them,” Peter agreed, looking as though admitting that might cause him to be physically ill.

“Ah. Anyway, Alpha pack. Find. Let’s go.” The Master headed for the door without bothering to see if the wolves were following him.

Derek, Scott, and Peter exchanged looks, shrugged, and followed the Time Lord. One thing was for sure: In Beacon Hills, California, there was never a dull day. They’d dealt with werewolves, Kanima, and insane hunters, but aliens? This was new.

-oOo-

“So, who’s this Doctor you keep mentioning?” Scott asked Stiles—no, he was the Master; he had to remember that.

“He’s a Time Lord, like me .Usually he spends his time travelling around the universe in his TARDIS, saving civilizations, committing genocide a few times, picks up human pets as his companions. Who need humans? I prefer werewolves, they’re much better.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. And speaking of TARDISes, where is mine?”

“TARDIS?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, Time and Relative Dimension in Space. At least her chameleon circuit is in full working order, unlike the Doctor’s. His is stuck as a police box from the 1950s, can you believe that?” The Master had said all of this without breaking stride, something Scott found amazing. Then again, Stiles had done that all the time, so maybe part of his friend was still inside the Time Lord. They were the same person after all, right?

“No, we’re not,” the Master said, spooking the Beta wolf. “Stiles Stilinski is a person I made up when I had to use the Chameleon Arch to become human and hide from the Family of Blood—or what’s left of them, anyway. The Doctor chose very good punishments for them, if I do say so myself. Yes, I suppose some parts of him are in me, just like parts of myself were in Stiles. It’s complicated.”

“Could you change back?” Scott asked, already knowing the answer.

“I could, but it’s extremely painful.”

“Would you?”

“No.”

That hurt, maybe more than it should have. Then . . . “Hang on. How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Time Lords are mildly telepathic.” The Master stopped, stared into Scott’s eyes. Instantly the Beta felt like he should do anything this alien ordered, that he was his Master and therefore should be obeyed . . . 

“Stop it,” Derek growled at the Time Lord, eyes glowing scarlet. “What are you doing to him?!”

Stiles/the Master took his eyes off Scott’s, who blinked. It felt as if he was coming out of a dream. “Do I really have to mention that I specialize in hypnosis? Now, do you want to find and kill the Alpha pack or not? I don’t do favors like this all the time, you know.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured that out,” Peter muttered.

“Anyway! TARDIS, TARDIS, TARDIS . . .” The Master closed his eyes, went through his memories—including those from when he was Stiles Stilinski. Ah, yes. Where else could it be? He broke into a run, thankful that he seemed to still have the super-speed from his last regeneration’s resurrection. The wolves weren’t far behind, yet another reason he preferred them over the Doctor’s human pets.

The four of them skidded to a halt in Stiles’s backyard in front of a wooden shed, one that didn’t look big enough to hold all four of them. That didn’t stop the Master; he walked right in after pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door.

“Hello,” he greeted his TARDIS. The room hummed and lights flickered. “Yes, it’s nice to see you, too.”

He crossed over to the console, where a new laser screwdriver was sticking up, ready for him. The Master grabbed it, twirled it around a few times before slipping it in his pocket. Then he walked out and faced the werewolves.

“Okay, who wants to go kill some Alphas?”


	2. Chapter 2

Derek, Scott, and Peter exchanged glances before looking back at the Master. Unsurprisingly, Scott shook his head. "I'm not a killer."

"Aw, come on. You could rise to the challenge, become an Alpha. That _is_ what you want, isn't it?"

Scott hesitated, but the Master had picked up on it—and he planned on using that to his advantage. The teen wolf insisted, "No. There has to be a way to get rid of the Alpha pack without killing them."

The Master raised one eyebrow. "You're sure you don't have a fob watch inscribed with Gallifreyan anywhere?"

Scott blinked. "No, I don't."

"Anyway!" The Master strode right past the three wolves. "I'm going to go find them. You can come along if you want."

_Wait for it, wait for it . . ._

The Time Lord smiled as, ten seconds later, he heard three pairs of footsteps hurrying after him.

_Pack loyalty. You gotta love it._

And he was planning on having some fun. He deserved it.

The best part was that the Doctor wasn't here to stop him.

-oOo-

Warily, the four of them approached the bank where the Alpha pack had made their camp. Well, the wolves did. The Time Lord just bounded up to the front door and walked right inside.

Night had fallen by now, casting deep shadows over the marble interior. None of them could see the Alpha pack, but that didn't mean they weren't lurking around somewhere.

"Hello-oo!" the Master called. "Anybody home? You have visitors!"

Scott and Derek exchanged slightly-panicked looks. Derek hissed, "What are you _doing_? Are you out of your mind?!"

"Yep," the Master said with a grin. "It's the drums. They make me do it."

"We're dead," Peter muttered.

"Really? Cos if we were, I could hardly expect to be talking."

"Master?" Derek growled.

"Oh, I love it when you use my name. Yes?"

"Two words: Shut. Up."

Scott's eyes flared gold. "They would know we're here by now, wouldn't they?"

Derek nodded, shifting into his Alpha form. "Yep."

The Master's hand reached into his pocket, curled around his laser screwdriver. Oh, this was going to be fun. This pack of Alphas wouldn't know what hit them. He doubted any of them had even heard of the Time Lords.

Well, they'd find out soon enough. More like right now, in fact, since he saw shadowy shapes slide out from the dark out of the corner of his eyes.

The Master grinned. He was _definitely_ looking forward to this.

"You didn't come alone," one of the male Alphas—the Master thought it was Deucalion, the head of the pack—said to Scott.

"No. You already know Derek and Peter. How about him?" Scott gestured at the alien in front of him.

Deucalion tilted his head. "Interesting. Either his heart is pounding very fast, or—"

"You're hearing a four-beat heartbeat, yes?" the Master said. "There's an easy explanation for that: I have two hearts."

He could have sworn the other Alphas looked surprised at that. Good. At least that meant they'd never encountered the Doctor. Where exactly was the other Time Lord now in space and time? Not that he particularly cared, but he _was_ curious . . . and his thoughts were running away from him. That seemed to be a particular trait of this incarnation.

"That's not possible," Ethan—or was it his brother?—breathed. "Humans don't have two hearts."

"Neither do werewolves," the Master pointed out. "And here's a little newsflash for you: I'm not human." His fingers tightened their hold on his laser screwdriver, but he didn't want to use it. Not yet. Mind games were _so_ much more fun.

"Then what are you?" the only female Alpha asked (What was her name? Kali?), idly checking the length of her claws. She stepped forward, close to the Master, wolf fangs jutting out from her mouth, and studied his face. "Wait, I know you. You're Stiles, the Hale pack's little pet."

The Master smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Nope. Not human. And Stiles—as you may recall—was human. I'm not him."

"Then who are you?" Deucalion snapped. "You're starting to bore me, and trust me, you don't want that to happen."

"Oh, you're going to love this," the Master said with relish. "I'm the Master, and _you're_ the one who doesn't want to bore _me._ "

"You never answered the question of 'What are you?'," Kali said.

"I'm a Time Lord, one of the last of the Time Lords." The Master folded his arms over his chest, eyed the Alpha pack with a smug and cocky expression.

Yep, that did it. The entire pack stopped in their tracks, puzzlement written clearly on their faces.

Deucalion tilted his head, and the Master could practically see the wheels spinning in his brain. (Oh, wait, he could.) "I've never heard of the Time Lords."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't. That's mostly because we're from another solar system. I'm guessing you've heard of the Doctor, though, since he loves messing with your planet's history."

"Nope," Aiden said. "Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."

The Master was aware of Scott morphing behind him into his Beta form. He didn't say anything about that and instead rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me. Harold Saxxon, the Prime Minister of the UK? That was me in a previous regeneration. And there's a reason you never want to go to London during Christmas—there's been aliens invading on Christmas for the past . . . oh, eight years now. How did you miss the entire Master race? Well, granted, since everyone was me, I don't suppose you'd remember that anyway, or the Year That Never Was. Still! At least tell me you've heard of the Oncoming Storm (also known as the Doctor, by the way)."

 _Now_ there was a flicker of recognition in Deucalion's blind eyes. Typical. Mention the Doctor, and there was nothing. _Then_ you say he's the Oncoming Storm, and fear sparked and sizzled inside. How come nobody remembered _him,_ the Master?

"Are you always this talkative?" the Demon Wolf asked casually.

He shrugged. "I don't know, because I don't really know who I am. I mean, I'm the Master, but what does that mean? Am I funny? Sarcastic? Ginger? No, guess not; but the Doctor would be über jealous if I was—he's always wanted to be ginger. How 'bout sexy?" He grinned roguishly at Kali, who looked completely taken aback. Oh, yes, this was _fun_. "I mean, judging from the evidence I've certainly got a gob. And I can still hear the drums—but they're always there, as I've explained to this lot behind me. That's some comfort, I suppose."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "I don't hear any drums."

"Aw, you're breaking my hearts. Wait, what's that one song that was written about me? Ah, yes: _Can you hear them? They're coming. They're in the signal, they're in my head. Is it only me? Am I the only one to be called? This pounding in my ears is calling me to rule the world. Rule the universe as the Master of your fate. Can you hear the drums? Don't try to fight them, it's too late._ You gotta love Chameleon Circuit just for that one song." He grinned maniacally. "Though, really, you shouldn't have tried hurting the Hale pack. That's just gotten my attention—and nobody wants that. Trust me."

By then, one of the other Alphas—Ennis?—had lost patience, growled angrily, shifted, and charged at Scott. The Beta ducked the blow, retaliated with a swipe of his claws, and was thrown hard down on the floor.

"Oh, now you've done it," the Master muttered, finally pulling out his laser screwdriver. He aimed it at Kali, whose lips curled in a laugh. She raised one clawed hand, slashed down . . .

And one blast from the screwdriver and she was gone, vaporized, dead, like she'd never existed.

Master: one; Alphas: zero.

He whirled around, changed the setting, and aimed it at another of the Alpha pack. This time the werewolf was caught in a rapid dance—much like the one he'd forced the Doctor into onboard the _Valiant_ (and that had actually been highly amusing to watch). Finally he stopped it, and the disoriented werewolf turned on one of the other Alphas.

"Woo-hoo! Yes! I am on a roll!" The Master cackled, pumped a fist in the air, and turned at the sound of Scott's low howl. His excited grin died and anger sparked in his eyes when he saw that the Beta was pinned down by Ennis. Said Alpha was dangerously close to killing Scott—the Master could see that the Beta was starting to shift back to human shape.

 _Come on, Scott,_ he thought, sending the thought into the Beta's mind. _Kill him. Right now it's kill or be killed—and just think, you'll finally become an Alpha._ Okay, so maybe he was using a little hypnosis, but it didn't hurt anyone, did it? Well, maybe Ennis, since Scott—under the Time Lord's influence—swiped his claws along the Alpha's throat. Blood spurted out of the deep claw marks—what did you know, they _did_ bleed red—and Ennis' head lolled back, eyes holding Scott's. The Beta's gold eyes darkened, burning red, and he howled triumphantly.

Derek and Peter were still fighting the rest of the pack, or what remained of it, and the Master decided to go for the Alphas' Alpha. He could probably just use his laser screwdriver to kill all of the Alpha pack, but what would be the point? Picking them off one by one was so much more satisfying.

And the drums were growing ever louder.

Deucalion eyed the Master warily, a flicker of something almost like nervousness in his milky eyes. He couldn't see the Time Lord, but his other senses were so finely honed that he knew where his adversary was standing.

Good.

The Master wanted it to be that way. He preferred having (somewhat) of a fair fight.

"Y'know," he drawled, "we really could have avoided this whole situation if you'd just left town. Well, then again, I suppose if you hadn't, then I would have stayed human for Rassilon knows how long. And boy, was _that_ dull. Granted, there were all these murders happening to keep me busy, but now I am _so much more_ than that."

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Not really, but at the end of the day I _am_ a Time Lord. Blimey, you should have been at some of the Council meetings—now _that_ lot could talk you to death no problem." He idly twirled the laser screwdriver around his fingers and shot the Alpha a contemptuous look.

Deucalion's head tilted to the side. "Where are you from? You sound like an American, but you use British terms."

"I'm from Gallifrey—you wouldn't have heard of it, so don't bother asking. And considering how many times I've ended up in Great Britain over the years, it's no wonder I've picked up the lingo. As for the American accent, sorry, it's entirely this regeneration's fault. Dodgy process, that is. I never know what I'm going to look or sound like. Is there a mirror anywhere?"

"No."

"Dammit."

Eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Bit of an extreme reaction, don't you think?"

"Considering I had to turn human immediately after I regenerated, no, I don't think so."

"What is this 'regeneration'?"

"A little trick Time Lords have. It's our way of cheating death, and sorry, you can't have it."

"Pity."

"That it is, yes. 'Sides, you can't become a Time Lord; you have to be born one."

"Why would I want to? I'm the Alphas' Alpha, the Demon Wolf!"

"Yeah, sorry, but I've heard of the Bad Wolf. You don't want to cross her. She'll take you right out of time and space. It'll be like you never existed." He fiddled with a setting on his screwdriver. "Oh, wait, you're not going to."

Deucalion bared his fangs and lunged, but the Master was quicker. He aimed the screwdriver, pressed a button, and—

 _Ding, dong, the wolf is dead._ He frowned. _What is it with me and children's programmes? First_ Teletubbies, _now it's_ The Wizard of Oz.. _I need to get a life—aside from universal domination, of course._

The only Alpha pack members left were the twins, Ethan and Aiden. As the Master watched, the twins melded together to form one giant Alpha.

Lovely. He couldn't help wondering exactly how they did that. Science? Or maybe because they had the same DNA?

Ah, well. He'd leave it up for the Doctor to decide, if the other Time Lord ever showed up at all.

Derek stepped back from the giant Alpha, shifted back into human form. "Peter! Scott!" he called. "They're done! Let's go!"

Scott turned his glowing scarlet eyes on Derek, and the younger Hale flinched. Just by looking at the expression on his face the Master could tell that this was _not_ what Derek had planned at all. Not that the Time Lord cared; he'd helped Scott get want he wanted. Besides, if he recalled correctly, Derek had already told Scott months ago that he was already an Alpha with his own pack. So what if a little mental nudging had helped the teenager fully take on the role? It was worth it.

Oh, bugger. Stiles's loyalty to his friend was bleeding through. What was it about this regeneration that seemed so _human_?

Or maybe spending so much time with the Doctor—and then spending months being human—was rubbing off on him.

The Master cursed under his breath in Gallifreyan. This wouldn't do, not at all. He was a Time Lord, not some lowly ape. Then again, these were werewolves he was dealing with, not humans.

His life had gone to the dogs. Literally.

He _really_ needed to reconsider his priorities.

Before he knew what he was doing, his body was walking toward the new Alpha, stopping in front of Scott. "Oi, Scott, listen to me. Snap out of it."

Scott was still wolfed out and not listening. A small part of the Master was concerned. What if the teen couldn't handle it? He was probably the youngest Alpha there ever was—sorry, the twins didn't count. (The Master suspected they weren't really fifteen years old and were in fact older than they looked.) Right now, with Scott's fangs bared and him looking ready to attack, the Master sighed. "I'm really going to regret this."

He knocked his forehead to Scott's; the impact had him reeling back, holding his own forehead. "Ow. Nobody wins with a head-butt." Thankfully, it did the trick: Scott's eyes closed as he slumped forward in a dead faint.

Derek was there instantly, checking Scott's neck for a pulse. He glared up at the Master. "What did you do to him?" he snapped.

"Relax, would you? Sheesh. I just knocked him out, put him in a deep sleep. He'll be fine. 'Course he'll be; he's an Alpha now."

"And what's in it for you?" The look in Derek's eyes was dangerous, but the Master had seen worse from the Oncoming Storm.

"Nothing. I'll be off in my TARDIS traveling the universe soon enough, taking out several races while I'm at it. Sounds like fun. 'Sides, Scott was my best friend while I was human. Figured I might as well help him out for a change—and you _did_ say he was already an Alpha. I just made it official."

Derek's already-dour expression darkened even further. Blimey, but he'd thought the Doctor had been moody when he'd last seen him—all brown pinstripe suits and eyes and gorgeous tousled hair. Skinny, too. You'd get a papercut if you hugged him.

"Can we get out of here?" Peter asked in a bored voice. "Hate to break up this Kodak moment, but unless you want to get arrested . . ."

"Ah. Good point." The Master headed for the Hale Beta, walked past him, and headed out the door of the bank. Behind him, he was aware of Derek scooping Scott up in the fireman's carry—Time Lord senses were far superior to that of humans, but he didn't know how much more they were compared to werewolves—and decided to say nothing of it. He'd let those two figure out their relationship for themselves (and really, looking back on it, Scott's relationship with Allison was almost sickening. It was a good thing they'd broken up—for everyone involved).

"So!" he said when the four of them were out of the bank. "Where to now? I'm starving. Food, anyone?"

Scott couldn't answer anyone at the moment, and Derek and Peter looked a bit surprised, like they were wondering how he could possibly be thinking of food after everything that had happened.

The Master turned his head back to look at them. "Any suggestions?"

Derek and Peter exchanged glances; then the Alpha reluctantly volunteered, "The Beaconburger has okay food."

"Brilliant! Follow me."

The Master turned his head back round, walked forward . . . and promptly ran smack-dab into a tree.

"Right, bad idea. Nobody follow my footsteps; I walk into trees."


	3. Chapter 3

Fifteen minutes later the four of them were seated in a booth at the Beaconburger. At this time of night they were the only customers there. Scott had regained consciousness—much to everyone’s relief, he’d transformed back to human. The Master was busy studying the menu, unsure of what this new body would like. Since he’d had to turn human after regeneration, technically he was still within the first fifteen hours of his regeneration cycle. New body, new rules, and Rassilon, he hoped he wouldn’t have to spend most of the cycle in bed. Then again, he’d rewritten every single cell in his body—twice. Of course he was going to be out of it. Be that as it may, he still needed to have fuel.

“So, what’s good here?” he asked, flicking his eyes over the menu to look at the Hales. (Scott was sitting next to him.)

Derek shrugged. Peter raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t you remember anything from when you were Stiles?”

“Yeah, but it’s like a dream. Besides—new body, new rules. I’m still cooking.”

Scott blinked. “Huh?”

“Technically I’m still in the first fifteen hours of my regeneration cycle, so I’m going to be very loopy for a while. Ooo, this looks good.” He stared intently at the description for a western bacon cheeseburger. “So much meat on this planet, did you know that? Hot, greasy . . . Do they serve apple pie?”

All three wolves were stunned into silence. Finally Scott said, “I think so.”

“A la mode?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“I love apples. And ice cream.”

“Oookay.”

Naturally, it was at this moment their server came over. They placed their orders, waited another fifteen minutes, and finally they were served. (There had been hot rolls and butter spread to snack on. The Master had taken one bite, risen from the table, grabbed the plate, and tossed out the door. “And stay out!” When he’d returned to the booth, the others had given him _what-is-wrong-with-you?_ looks.)

The Master took a couple slow bites to test out the burger on his new taste buds, then wolfed the rest down, eyes closed in ecstasy. _Oh, this is good. Not sure about the onion rings, but hhhmmmm._ Vaguely he was aware of the wolves watching him, but he could care less. Then he tried the chips—sorry, French fries this side of the pond—and instantly spat them out. “No chips. Chips are bad. And . . . is that a pickle?” He picked it up, nibbled on the edge, and threw it down. “What are they trying to do—poison me?!”

By now Peter looked like he was trying hard not to laugh, Derek’s eyebrows had shot up, and Scott almost choked on a swig of water. He recovered quickly. “You just made my day right there.”

“Huh. And what about you? Best friend has fob watch, fob watch holds his Time Lord essence, friend becomes Time Lord and defeats Alphas, and you’re just sitting there.”

“Good point.”

“Did I mention that you’re an Alpha now?”

“ _What_?”

“Thank me later. ’Course, you didn’t really need to kill Ennis in order to become an Alpha, but he was just collateral damage.”

Derek spoke up for the first time: “You mentioned a Bad Wolf when talking to Deucalion. What is that?”

The Master shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’ve just heard stories about her.”

“And what do the stories say?” Peter asked.

“Is she a werewolf?” Scott asked at the same time.

The Master paused, trying to remember what he’d heard about the Bad Wolf. “No, Scott, she’s not a werewolf. Rose Tyler, one of the Doctor’s former companions, looked into the heart of his TARDIS and absorbed all the energy of the Time Vortex. If a Time Lord does that he’ll become a god, but she was just human. It was killing her. But she used the power to erase the Daleks from time and space and brought Captain Jack Harkness back to life. Oh, I had so much fun with him—it’s literally impossible for him to die.” A smile curved his mouth at the memory; even Peter looked disturbed.

“Do we even want to know what you did to him?” Derek asked.

“Not really. Any other questions?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Where do the drums come from?”

Oh, he just had to mention the drums. “Back home on Gallifrey, each Time Lord child had to approach the eye, forced to behold the Vortex, to be inspired or run. But as I gazed into the vastness of Time I heard the sound of drums.” He began tapping out the beat in his head with a spoon on the side of his glass. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four . . .

“The eye?” Peter asked.

“The Untempered Schism.”

“How old were you?” Scott wondered.

“Eight years. I looked very different then, trust me. The Doctor ran. Figures. He hasn’t stopped since.” He stopped, then grabbed at the napkin. “Now he can sense me, smell me. Have to get rid of the scent . . .” Then he remembered how that had turned out last time. There was also the fact that he almost always dared the Doctor to try and find him. “Never mind that.” He dropped the napkin, eyed Scott’s food. “Are you going to finish that?”

The teenage werewolf instantly hunched protectively over his meal. “Yes.” He glared at the Master, silently daring him to try and steal it. While he was being smart, the Master decided not to pick a fight with a wolf over food. He rather liked life and he was still familiarizing himself with this body. What good would regeneration do? Besides, he could always re-grow limbs if the need arose. 

“Okay, okay.” The Master leaned back in the booth, rested his hands on the table. Idly he began tapping out the beat in his head. _Dum-dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dum-dum._

“Will you stop that?” Derek snapped, eyeing the Master with a peeved expression. “It’s creepy and freaking me out.”

“Hhmm. This coming from an Alpha werewolf whose uncle has been brought back from the dead and has to deal with all other sorts of crazy supernatural stuff.”

Said uncle smirked. “You remember that drawing of the Kanima? ‘Bigger and better.’”

“Oh, God, don’t remind me. And you’re the one who said ‘It’s only a drawing. How bad can it be?’.”

“Eh. Good point.”

The Master looked interested. “A bigger and better Kanima?”

“It had wings,” said Derek.

“Yeah, I could see that,” Peter deadpanned.

The Master hid a small smile of amusement. He liked Peter Hale. Course, the fact they were both psychopaths might have something to do with that, but he also liked Peter’s sense of humor. For a fleeting moment he actually missed his verbal sparring matches with the Doctor.

As the thought crossed his mind, his “spidey-senses” began tingling. The smile became a crooked grin. So, the Doctor _was_ in town.

But where?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Given the fact Beacon Hills was a supernatural hot spot, the Doctor and his companions—if any—were bound to investigate. Since there were more teen wolves in town—and his latest regeneration appeared to be a teenager—what better place to start than the high school?

Although the four of them had no way of knowing it, Mr. Harris had just been taken by the durach, which gave the Doctor and Rose Tyler the perfect cover.

-oOo-

The next morning found the Master and Scott inside Beacon Hills High School. Scott, because he had classes; the Master, because he was looking for the Doctor and for his own amusement. It would be very interesting to see what humans called science.

They’d already met Isaac, Allison, and Lydia. One glance had told the Master that none of the three were the Doctor—yes, Time Lords could change genders; the Corsair had done so several times—but Isaac had looked confused upon listening to the Time Lord’s heartsbeat. Since the Master had no reason at the present to reveal his true identity to these three, he said nothing of it. After a moment, the confusion on Isaac’s face melted away.

Then Lydia had said Mr. Harris—their Chemistry teacher—was missing. The Master had perked up at that: Being a substitute Chem teacher was the perfect cover for the Doctor. Idly, the Master wondered if his former best friend had regenerated.

Ah well. He’d find out soon enough. If he remembered right from Stiles’s schedule, he had Chemistry third hour, with English first hour. Fine by him, since he had a sneaking suspicion he knew the identity of the durach that was committing human sacrifices. Not that he minded sacrifices; after all, the Cult of Saxon had given their lives so that he could be resurrected. But when there wasn’t any _point_ to them—at least from what he could see— _that_ was when he stepped in.

Needless to say, nobody lived too long after that. Same way with the Doctor, come to think of it. For both Time Lords, death was their constant companion.

“C’mon, Stiles,” Scott said finally. “We should head to class.”

Though he understood why the werewolf kept calling him by his human name, it still irritated the Master a little. The irritation faded when he spotted Ethan and Aiden; the two Alphas noticed him at the same moment and balked, walking away as quickly as they could without running. A satisfied smirk curved the Master’s mouth as he watched them go. Then he followed Scott into their English classroom.

As soon as he walked in, he knew instantly there was something off about Ms. Jennifer Blake. With all these werewolves in the school, how could they not have noticed? Then again, as a renegade Time Lord, he’d had several near-death experiences of his own and knew when someone had come back from the brink of death. Then again, there was Peter . . . and Jack. Both of them were fixed points in time, and all of his instincts were screaming at him to leave them alone.

But he almost never followed his instincts, except for the Time War, and look where that had gotten him. Somehow he’d avoided being sucked back behind the Time Lock with Rassilon and the other Time Lords and had made the _incredibly_ stupid decision to save the Doctor’s latest companion, Wilfred Mott. That had resulted in his regeneration. As far as he knew, the Doctor was still tall, skinny, and had a fondness for the color brown.

“Mr. Stilinski!” Ms. Blake’s voice snapped the Master out of his reverie. “If you could take your seat, we can start class.”

The Master walked forwards, stopping in front of her desk. He leaned forward, looked into her eyes, and saw the madness there. Some of his own madness must have crept into his eyes, because Jennifer drew in a sharp breath. She said quietly, “You’re not Stiles. Who _are_ you?”

The Master smiled coldly. “You’ll find out soon enough, but I’m not here to talk about me. What planet are you from? Cos it’s not Earth.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ms. Blake said. “I’m human, and we really shouldn’t be having this in front of the class. Now take a seat.”

This time, the Master’s smile reached his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve hypnotized the entire class. Listen, Ms. Blake. Can you hear them?” He eased back, hands spread to the sides in a “come-at-me” gesture. “Can you hear the drums?”

“You’re insane,” she said flatly.

The Master gave her two thumbs-up. “Yes I am. Now _listen_.” By now he had the entire class tapping out that familiar four-beat rhythm on their desks, pant legs, floor, or chair. He could see the fear begin to well up in Ms. Blake’s eyes, and oh, how he loved watching her squirm.

“Witchcraft,” she breathed.

“No. Time Lord.”

The _durach_ frowned. “Never heard of them.”

“Course you haven’t. I doubt you’ve heard of the Time War either.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“A Jelly Baby.”

Jennifer blinked. “A _what_?”

“You’ve never heard of Jelly Babies?” The Master rolled his eyes. “Sheesh. What’s the world coming to? No, actually, you are going to stop committing human sacrifices. If not, I know a bloke who will be only too happy to stop you. And world domination would be nice. I was in control of the world for a year, killed the President of the United States to kick it all off, turned the Doctor’s TARDIS into a Paradox Machine, and the Doctor—naturally—reversed everything I’d done.” He smirked, remembering some of his finer moments, and burst into song: “ _I can’t decide whether you should live or die. Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven. Please don’t hang your head and cry. No wonder why my heart feels dead inside. It’s cold and hard and petrified. So lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re going for a ride. Oh, I could throw you in the lake or feed you poisoned birthday cake. I won’t deny I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone. Oh, I could bury you alive_ ”—at this, he circled around the desk, grabbed Jennifer by the shirt collar, and pushed her back onto her chair—“ _but you might crawl out with a knife and kill me while I’m sleeping. That’s why I can’t decide whether you should live or die. Oh, you’ll probably go to heaven. Please don’t hang your head and cry. No wonder why my heart feels dead inside. It’s cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re going for a ride._ ”

“Was that the Scissor Sisters?”

“Yep,” the Master said, popping the ‘p’. “Citizens, rejoice! Your Lord and Master stands on high . . . playing track three!” He grinned. _“I can’t decide—”_

“NO! No! Anything but that!”

“Hang on, that’s _The Lion King_. So would that make you Scar?”

“Yeah, and you’re Zazu.”

“No, I’m Scar. You’re one of the hyenas. Shanzi, maybe. And don’t you have a class to teach?” The Master was already walking back to the seat he remembered as belonging to Stiles. Once he’d taken a seat, he brought everyone else out of the trance, and the tapping stopped. Ms. Blake began the lesson, though it was clear to the Master that he’d unnerved her. Satisfied, he leaned back as far as he could in the plastic chair and amused himself by observing the various timelines of people in the room. His hand slipped into his jeans pocket and fingered the laser screwdriver.

He couldn’t wait to find the Doctor.

-oOo-

Third hour rolled around, and the Master found himself in Mr. Harris’s classroom. There wasn’t a teacher in yet, and most of the class was wondering who the sub was.

The sound of the door closing alerted the class that the sub had entered the room. Tall, skinny, brown suit . . . he hadn’t changed a bit. (Too bad he couldn’t say the same for himself.)

Instantly all the girls in the class sat up straighter, an “Alright” spilling in unison from their throats.

The Master couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Who did he think he was? Casanova? James Bond?

“So!” the sub said with a smile. “Chemistry. Chemistry, chemistry, chemistry, CHEM-istry. I’m John Smith, by the way, and I’ll be your sub until Mr. Harris is found.” He swept his gaze over the class, smile fading and expression freezing when he saw the Master.

For his part, the Master grinned and waved. “Hullo. What’s up, Doc?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's so short. And yes, the Doctor may be OOC, but I think there were a lot of unresolved issues from _The Last of the Time Lords_ that needed to be addressed. So there you go.

“Master,” the Doctor said once he had found his voice. He flashed a crooked smile. “You’re looking . . . young.”

“Yeah. Apparently I now have an American accent. What’s up with that? Then again—”

“Bit of a dodgy process,” the Doctor finished. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to turn human to hide from relatives of the Family, and my TARDIS landed here. You?”

“Found Rose—again—and something drew my TARDIS here. Still don’t know what. Then when we heard a teacher had gone missing . . .” The Doctor shrugged.

“Mmm. So much for your song ending, Doctor. Not that I mind, ’course. This regeneration of yours is—how did that bitchy trampoline put it?—slim and a little bit foxy.”

The Doctor groaned. “Really? You _had_ to bring that up?”

“Well . . .”

“Um, sorry,” Scott spoke up, confusion apparent. “You know him,” he said, pointing from the Master to the Doctor, “he knows you,” back again, “and apparently everyone in here is okay with this? Did I miss something?”

“Never mind that,” said Isaac. “What the hell is going on?”

The two Time Lords exchanged glances before looking back at the werewolves. “Weeelll,” the Doctor said, “it’s complicated, very complicated, and right now really isn’t the best time.”

“Oh, come off it,” said the Master. “When has that ever stopped you? More to the point, when’s it ever stopped me?”

“Meh.” The other Time Lord’s voice was more of a squeak on that syllable. “Fair enough. The Master race for one, then you brought back Gallifrey and our insane Lord President Rassilon. Do I have to mention the Year That Never Was?”

“Thank me later.”

“You made me old and imprisoned me in a _tent_ for a year!”

The Master shrugged. “Like I said: Thank me later.”

“And don’t even get me started on that horrid Scissor Sisters song. You’d’ve been better off going with Twisted Sister!”

“Oi!” The Master pulled a face. “Um, no. I’ll stick with that one song, thanks. Besides, it’s my jam!”

“It got old _real_ fast after listening to it for a bloody year. I think you were the only one actually enjoying yourself. But that’s not the point. You left me! Again!” The Doctor had come out from behind the desk by now and he jabbed a finger in the Master’s sternum. “Your wife shot you in one of your hearts. You could have regenerated, but oh no, you just _had_ to be the winner in our little game, didn’t you?” Anger flared in those dark eyes, turning them almost black.

“And there’s the Oncoming Storm,” the Master murmured so that only the Doctor and the two werewolves in the classroom could hear. “Come on, _Doctor_. Show the class your true nature, hhm?” He smirked as the Doctor suddenly took a few steps back. “Oh, did we forget class is in session? You really should watch that tongue of yours. Might land you in trouble, though we could give ’em one hell of a chemistry lesson, eh?”

“Hold up,” Scott said, “time out.” He looked at each Time Lord in turn. “I repeat: What is going on here?”

“Shouldn’t you actually be teaching us something?” Lydia put in, eyeing the Doctor with interest. (The Master rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t any of _his_ regenerations be that good-looking? On second thought . . . eww, no. Shagging a teenage human when he was as old as he was was just wrong. Didn’t seem to stop the Doctor though, given how the renegade felt about Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor mouthed “Later” at Scott and Isaac and cleared his throat. “Um, yes. You lot never heard any of that, got it?” (Since most of the class was now staring at their sub and Stiles Stilinski, it was clear they weren’t going to forget any of that anytime soon.) “Now, tetrahedral atoms—”

“Sorry, did you say Stiles had a _wife_?” some guy asked.

“And it sounds like someone has abandonment issues,” Lydia quipped. She returned to filing her nails.

“Long story,” the Doctor said, “and _no_ , I don’t.”

“Oh, _really_?” the Master scoffed. “What was all that about coming with you in your—”

“Shut up, Kosechi,” the Doctor hissed softly, using his name from when they were children at the Academy.

“Okay, Theta, but you started it.”

“No, you did, and _can we please get back to Chemistry_?”

The class fell silent.

“Thank you. Now . . .”

As the Doctor droned on, the Master tuned out the other Time Lord and cast his gaze around the class. It landed on Lydia—hardly surprising, given Stiles had had a major crush on her. She was certainly an interesting one: she’d failed to turn when Peter had given her the Bite; her blood had raised said Alpha from the dead; she had transformed Jackson from the Kanima into a werewolf; and, somehow, she kept finding the new bodies, the _darach_ ’s victims. The more he studied her personal timeline, the more engrossed he became . . . and that was dangerous. Like all Time Lords he saw the universe differently than humans, or even werewolves, and even moved in five-dimensional space. He could see everything: what could be, what should be, what must be, and what must not. And while he loved seeing the universe like that, he knew the Doctor viewed it as a curse.

Both of them were getting too young for this sort of thing. 

Before he knew it, the dismissal bell was ringing. The rest of the class bolted for the door, but Isaac, Scott, and the Master lingered, waiting until the room was empty to approach the Doctor.  
The Master hid a smirk when the Doctor looked up and said, “Why is it whenever something happens, it’s always you three?”

Scott stared. “Is that a Harry Potter reference?”

“No, it’s _Teen Wolf_. Of course it’s Harry Potter!”

“Careful, Doctor,” the Master snarked. “Your sass is showing.”

The Doctor glared at him before calling him something very offensive in their native tongue.

“Aw. That’s not nice.”

“I’m rude and not ginger this time round. Tell me what you’re doing here, and if I don’t like it I _wil_ l stop you. I used to have so much mercy. You get one warning. That was it.”

Scott scoffed. “So you two are all-powerful Time Lords? More like five-year-olds.”

“Don’t I know it,” piped up a feminine, English voice from the doorway. The Master, Scott, and Isaac whirled around to see a blond woman, early twenties, standing there. She gave them a little tongue-in-cheek smile ( _Down, boys,_ the Master thought) and tilted her head, brown eyes landing on the Doctor. “So, who’s this? New friends of yours?”

The Master felt a small spark of amusement when the Doctor was scrambling for words, but he pushed it down. There was more at stake here than his own desires, after all.

Who was he trying to kid? That had never stopped him before.

“Rose,” the Doctor said, “this is . . .”

“Scott,” said the Alpha.

“Isaac.”

“Stiles. But you can call me the Master.” His cheeky smile faded at the hard look in the Doctor’s eyes. “Sorry. Just Stiles, then.” He hated having to use that human name, but it was better that Rose didn’t know he was a Time Lord. Not now, at least.

Isaac’s head tilted to the side as he studied Rose, eyes flaring gold for a brief second. “There’s something of the wolf about you. You burnt like the sun, but we only require the moon.”

“What are you?” Scott added. “The bad wolf?”

The Master didn’t miss the way the Doctor and Rose flinched at that, nor the fact that it was the werewolves who sensed it in Rose. Come to think of it, so could he. There was a little bit of heuron energy, remnants of the Time Vortex . . . 

Then the teen wolves snapped out of it and said in unison, “Sorry, did we say something?”

Even the Master had to admit, that gave him chills.

Maybe there was something more going on here than just the Alpha pack and the _darach_.

If so . . . what was he going to do about it?


	5. Chapter 5

“You don’t remember anything of what you just said?” the Doctor asked Scott and Isaac, taking his “brainy specs” out of his pocket and slipping them on as he studied the werewolves. The Master’s curiosity was piqued, too. How could the wolves have sensed whatever that was in Rose? He knew she’d absorbed the entire Time Vortex and used the subsequent goddess-like power to erase the Daleks from time and space and bring Captain Jack Harkness back to life. The Doctor, or so the Master had gathered from the other Time Lord’s memories, had taken all of the power out of her—by kissing her, no less. So it should all be gone, yes?

“No,” Scott said, eyeing them in confusion. His voice roused the Master from his musings.

“What did we say?” Isaac asked.

The Doctor stepped back from the two teenagers, eyes deadly serious. “First, answer me this: What are you?”

Scott opened his mouth, but Rose spoke first:

“They’re werewolves, Doctor.”

Both Time Lords turned to her, eyebrows raised. The Master bit back a sarcastic remark that was dancing on the tip of his tongue. So, he still has Stiles’ sarcasm and warped sense of humor, as well as loyalty to his friends. That sort of worried him.

Rose was saying, “D’you remember when we were at the Torchwood House in 1879 Scotland?”

The Doctor nodded, jaw clenching at the name “Torchwood.” Well, that was interesting.

“When I was tied up down there, the werewolf said something similar.”

“What?” Scott demanded, eyes flashing red for a microsecond.

The Master took a seat in the teacher’s chair, leaned back, laced his hands behind his head, and propped his feet up on the desk. “Since our two wolves here apparently don’t remember what they said, why not tell them? Hhhmm?”

“Have you always been this snarky, or is it just this regeneration?”

“Buy me a drink first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe I am.” The Master smirked. “Anyway, do tell,” he drawled.

Rose swallowed. “That werewolf, he’d said, I’d seen it, too. It was in my eyes. He said there was something of the wolf about me, but I didn’t know what he meant. Still don’t.”

The Doctor’s expression made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Even the Master had trouble deciphering his moods. Finally he said, “Why don’t you three tell us what’s been going on?” It was directed at the Time Lord and the two werewolves, and he was looking at the Master.

“Not now,” Scott said. “We still have class.”

“Well, you do,” the Master muttered. At Scot’s shrewd look he quickly amended, “All right, all right, so do I. Let’s go, then.”

“Here,” the Doctor said, scribbling down his alias on three tardy passes, which he handed to Scott, Isaac, and “Stiles.” “You’ll need these.”

The Master took the hint. He dragged Scott and Isaac out of the classroom and shut the door, smirking as he heard the tell-tale sound of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. Sure enough, when he tried the door, it was locked.

_Guess I was right earlier. He_ is _Casanova._

“What’re you smirking at?” Scott asked him.

“Our very own James Bond back there.”

“What?”

“Blimey, do I have to spell it out for you? Honestly, this from the bloke who had ‘Allison’ as his laptop’s user name and password.”

Isaac fought back a smile. “Seriously?”

“Yep. I had to ask Peter if he still wanted Scott in his pack.”

Isaac smiled broadly, and the Master’s smirk widened.

“It’s not funny,” Scott snapped. “Besides, I’ve changed them since then.”

“To what, ‘Derek’ and ‘pack’?” the Master snarked.

Scott said nothing, which the Master took as a yes. “Wow, love’s made you a bit of a nutter, hasn’t it?”

Isaac made a strangled noise as he tried to choke back laughter. He fell silent at Scott’s hard look.

“Anyway,” the Master said quickly. “Where to next, my faithful companions?”

He strode off without waiting for an answer. Behind him he heard Isaac mutter, “Faithful companions, my arse.”

The Master just smirked.

-oOo-

Two periods later, he had to stop himself from using his laser screwdriver on the teacher. Their views of history were laughably inaccurate. Right now they were talking about the Cold War and all the advancements that were made during that time, as well as the many discoveries in space since then. When one kid mentioned they’d found water on Mars, the Master sat straight up in his seat. He commented, “I hope no one drinks the water.”

There was a light smattering of laughter at this, and the teacher frowned at him. “Why is that, Stiles?”

He couldn’t tell them the truth, but he could pass off his view of time as a theory. The Master was positive that Captain Adelaide Brooke had died on Mars, but when he concentrated on that timeline now, the reports said she died on Earth. That was impossible. Her death was fixed in time forever; she was supposed to die on Mars. That could only mean one thing: The Doctor had altered a fixed point in time.

“Stiles?” the teacher asked again. “Earth to Stiles!”

He bristled at the name but responded to it anyway. “Yes, right. Well, it’s only a theory—what do I know?—but I believe that certain points in time are fixed. The rest of history is in flux, anything can happen, but those tiny, precious moments have to stand. They have to happen. If they don’t the consequences are disastrous.” He’d meddled with time before, of course, but never a fixed point. For the Doctor to have done that . . . He must have been completely mad. The Master shook the thought off and continued, “Long ago on Mars, there was a race called the Ice Warriors. They must have found something in the water and frozen same to contain it. On November 21, 2059, something happened to the colony there—no one knows what—and the captain took Security Protocol Number Five, detonating the base. There were no survivors.” _There weren’t supposed to have been, anyway._

“That’s years off,” a girl named Amy said. “Why are you talking about it as if it already happened?”

“I do a lot of reading,” the Master deadpanned.

“But time doesn’t work like that,” another boy named James protested. “You can’t change history; it’s already happened.”

The Master eyed him coolly. “Did you not hear what I just said? You can’t change a _fixed point_ , like Pompeii. Everything else is fair game. Your cozy little world can be rewritten just like _that_.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point.

“You can’t know that,” James argued.

Almost absent-mindedly, the Master began tapping on his desk. “But I do. It’s how I see the universe. As for Pompeii, I’m pretty sure a friend of mine was behind that. And of course, there are paradoxes.”

By now the entire class was staring at him. Someone said, “What?”

The Master sighed. “Oh, how to explain the mechanics of infinite temporal flux? I know! It’s like _Back to the Future_.”

“The film?” Amy asked.

“No, the novelization,” he snarked. “Yes, the film! Marty McFly goes back and changes history, then starts fading away. ’Course, that’s an extreme example. If you want a less extreme one, anybody remember Mr. Saxon?”

“He was elected Prime Minister of the UK a few years ago,” the teacher said. “What does this have to do with space, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Oh, everything. But do any of you remember what happened after he was elected?”

There was silence for a while. Then another girl, he thought her name was Courtney, said, “Didn’t he bring those . . . Toclafane with him?”

“Yep.” Actually, they’d been Futurekind humans from the year three trillion at the very edge of the universe, but this lot didn’t need to know that. “He also killed the president. But what happened in the year after that?”

This time the silence stretched on for several minutes. Finally James said, “Wasn’t this Saxon dude shot and killed?”

“Yes, but that was after a whole year had passed—a year that never was. That’s a paradox for you. When it was undone, everything reversed to the moment after Saxon had the Toclafane kill the president.” This was just strange, talking about himself in third person, even if Harry Saxon had been an alias.

“How do you know all this?” James asked, eyes narrowed.

“I have a good memory.” No way was he telling any of them that he had been Mr. Saxon. They’d call Stiles’s dad, who would have him checked out by a psychiatrist.

“Nobody’s memory is that good.”

“I’m very special.”

“I’m sure you are, Stiles,” the teacher said, “but that didn’t happen.”

“But it did. That’s exactly my point. The paradox was disrupted, reversed, so that entire year never happened. And besides, if it never happened, how can I remember this?” Here, he dropped the American accent, his voice changing regions to reflect that of his past self: “Um, basically . . . end of the world.”

While no one admitted it, that phrase and voice sparked a distant memory, something they couldn’t quite recall . . .

“But—,” James started to protest.

“Don’t think about it too much,” the Master advised. “You’ll get a headache.”

“What is your point, Stiles?” the teacher snapped.

“Just that they shouldn’t drink the water on Mars, Teach.” He gave her the most innocent look he could muster.

James still wasn’t convinced. “But that theory about time . . . And how did you know that, about the Mars colony and these so-called Ice Warriors?”

“Like I said, I do a lot of reading.”

“About an event that’s forty-seven years in the future?”

“I’m very clever.”

“Yeah, sure. Right.”

Rassilon, this kid was annoying. The Master fingered his laser screwdriver, considered using it, and discarded the idea. He was still tapping, though, and that gave him an idea.

“Sshh. Listen. Can you hear them?”

The class silenced, though Amy asked, “Hear what?”

“The drums. They’re coming.” The Master’s eyes never left those of James, and now the teenager had taken up the rhythm. When he spoke again, it was in sing-song, with the lyrical undercurrent of his mother tongue. “In my dreams they’re calling, and every waking moment I hear the Vortex. I hear the sound—the sound of drums.” He brought the teen out of the trance. “Now, you were saying?”

James shook his head, looking confused. “What just—?”

“Stilinski!” the history teacher barked. “Hallway! Now!”

“Do I have to?” He stared into her eyes, saw them lose focus.

“No, no, you don’t.”

He broke eye contact, releasing her, and she blinked. “Where were we? Paradoxes? No! The waters of Mars. Does anyone have anything else besides Saxon and the Toclafane?” 

The Master shrugged. “I was merely pointing out that time can be rewritten. You assume time’s linear, a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear non-subjective viewpoint it’s a big ball of wibbley-wobbley timey-wimey stuff. It twists and turns, exists all at once. How else is time travel possible?”

“Time travel is just science fiction,” a girl protested.

“Oh, it’s perfectly possible, if too far advanced for this century.”

“You’re crazy,” she said flatly.

He grinned and gave her two thumbs up. “What was your first clue?” Oh, this was fun. Sometimes he wondered how this species, these lowly human apes, even broke orbit, let alone landed on their moon, colonized Mars, and expanded across three galaxies. Yet some part of him had liked being human . . .

He’d gone soft while he was human, but at least Stiles was more outgoing than Professor Yana.

“That’s enough, you two. Now, what else do you know about the Cold War and all of the other sci-fi stories that came from that era?”

“ _The War of the Worlds_ ,” a kid said. (The Master racked his brain trying to remember what that was; then he recalled it was a novel turned into a radio program. At first, listeners had thought it was real.)

“ _2001: A Space Odyssey_ ,” another student suggested.

“Oooh, love that film!” the Master said. “Though, really, what gave them the idea for that was a—”

He shut up at a few harsh stares. Who knew this incarnation appreciated Earth pop culture so much? (Well, considering he’d spent years hiding as a human, maybe it was to be expected.) “Sorry,” he muttered. “ADHD.” (That was what they’d diagnosed his human persona with while his Time Lord essence had been inside a fob watch, after all.)

Was it possible he could start world domination sometime today? After the pack, the Doctor, him, and Rose sorted out all this supernatural stuff, of course. (For all he knew, Rose could just go into her Bad Wolf state and erase the threat from time and space. Highly unlikely, but there was no way to be sure. He didn’t even know if she still knew about the Vortex remnants.)

“Yeah, that explains everything,” someone behind him muttered. 

The Master twisted around in his seat and gave the kid his best death glare. Oh, how his fingers itched to use the laser screwdriver. How long could he keep this charade up? Then again, he’d pretended to be Harold Saxon for quite a while before revealing his true identity. So he could hold onto his Stiles persona for a few hours longer. Until school let out, at least. He’d come here for his own amusement, after all.

The bell rang before he could say anything, and the Master was glad for the interruption. At least he had one more class after this. Then he could start figuring out exactly what was going on in this town.

-oOo-

After school let out, the Master and Scott met up with Isaac, the Doctor, and Rose in the Hale pack’s hangout. Naturally, Derek and Peter were already there. The Master just hoped Allison didn’t show up. She’d already tried to kill his wolves several times before, and he’d never quite trusted her the way Scott had even before she’d tried offing his best friend.

_Rassilon_ , what _was_ it with this body and Stiles’s memories bleeding through? He was the Master. He had allies and temporary companions, not friends. He’d even called his wife Lucy his “faithful companion”. Of course, he’d completely corrupted her, but that was beside the point.

“Who’s this?” Derek asked, bringing the Master out of his thoughts. The Hale Alpha was eyeing the Doctor and Rose suspiciously.

“Oh, I’m the Doctor and this is Rose,” the Doctor said brightly, hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

Rose smiled and waved, wiggling her fingers. “Hello.”

It was almost scary, the way they finished each other’s sentences.

“What are they doing here?” Peter asked, eyeing Rose with an unreadable expression. Noticing it, the Doctor’s own eyes hardened and his facial features darkened. Interesting. The Master knew all about the Valeyard, the manifestation of the Doctor’s dark side between his twelfth and thirteenth regenerations, but he’d never seen flashes of that darker side before—especially not in this version of him.

Maybe there really was a reason their enemies knew the Doctor as the Oncoming Storm. The Oncoming Storm and Bad Wolf, working together . . . It gave the Master chills just thinking about it.

_Rule Number One: Don’t mess with the Doctor,_ he thought.

“They want to help,” he said, answering Peter’s question. Hopefully they remembered his mentioning of the other Time Lord earlier. “And take my word for it, they do this sort of thing for fun.”

“Besides,” Scott added, “Mr. Harris has gone missing. If he dies . . .”

“That proves my human sacrifice theory, at least,” the Master said.

Isaac was still confused. “Hold up. Will someone please fill me in on what’s going on here?!”

The Master turned to the Beta, spoke low enough for only werewolf (and Time Lord) ears to detect. “First off, I’m not Stiles. I’m the Master. Well, I _was_ Stiles, but he was just a persona I created when I had to turn human. My Time Lord essence was hidden in a fob watch, which came back when I opened said watch. So, yes, I’m an alien. Two hearts, comes from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasteborous, over 900 years old, and can see the whole of time and space. And there’s the ever-constant drumming, of course. The Doctor’s a Time Lord, too. He picks up companions, goes around saving worlds while I destroy them with all sorts of clever, evil plans. And right now we’re the only hope your pack has. Do try and keep up, won’t you?”

Isaac just blinked and nodded once. “Okay. That actually explains a lot.”

The Master’s arms folded over his hearts. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He glared at the Beta werewolf.

“Just that—”

“Oookay,” the Doctor cut in before Isaac and the Master could seriously start anything. “What do we got? Missing teacher, several dead bodies, a pack of Alpha werewolves—”

“Not anymore,” the Master muttered.

The Doctor stopped and looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. We took care of the Alphas last night.”

“Oh, good for you. What else?”

“We have a _darach_ running around,” Derek said, “and we have no idea who it is.”

“ _Darach_?” Rose asked.

“It’s a dark druid,” Peter explained to her. “The druids are humans who are assigned to a specific pack as emissaries, offer advice, act as our . . . guardians, I guess you could say.”

“So they’re like shamans,” she said.

“Sort of, but the druids originated in Ireland, if memory serves.”

“So a _darach_ is a druid who went over to the Dark Side?”

“Yes, and can we _please_ leave _Star Wars_ out of this?”

“Yep.”

“Anyway,” the Master drawled. “Once you two are done . . .”

Peter and Rose fell silent.

“Good. Lucky for you lot,” the Master continued, “I know who the _darach_ is. Well, I _think_ I know.”

All four wolves snapped to attention. Scott asked, “Who is it?”

The Master gave the pack a sardonic smile. “You didn’t really expect me to tell, did you?”

“Yes,” Derek said curtly.

The Master shrugged. “Too bad. Follow me, my minions.” With that, he turned and walked out of the warehouse, perfectly aware that the Doctor was rolling his eyes and Rose was being his back-up sassiness, wearing a _“Bitch, please, not today”_ look.

It didn’t change the fact that they were following him.

At least the Doctor’s curiosity was working in the Master’s favor. (And everyone knew how _that_ had turned out for the cat.)

Ms. Jennifer Blake was definitely in for a surprise.


End file.
